Reunion
by Simon920
Summary: High school reunions. What a concept.
1. Chapter 1

Warnings: none

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

**Reunion**

**Part One**

It sat ignored for several weeks, along with the rest of the foot or so high pile of first class mail spilling off his kitchen counter. Finally, tired of looking at the stuff, Dick picked up a handful, consciously stopped himself from simply tossing them into the recycling and sat down to at least leaf through them.

Thank god that his bills automatically went to Bruce's accountant for payment.

That meant that most of the stuff here were invitations, personal letters from whomever and the usual thank you's for birthday presents, favors he'd done for people or hostess gifts from parties and dinners he'd gone to. Alfred's standards were built into him now and second nature. In short, all stuff he should at least open. Well, most of it, anyway.

Settling in with the TV playing in the background, he made his way through the pile then stopped when he saw the thick envelope. 'Looks like another wedding invitation'.

But;

"_It's hard to believe that it's been five years since graduation already!_

_Please say you'll join us for our first official reunion_

_Brixton Country Club_

_Saturday, July 7th_

_7 PM_

_Cocktail Wear_

_RSVP by June 28th_

_It Won't Be The Same Without You!"_

The last line had been underlined in ballpoint and "Please say you'll be there!" was scrawled on the bottom of the page. Dick looked through the rest of the packet; there was a schedule for the weekend which included an informal get together on Friday evening at a local pizza place, a Saturday brunch/cookout and a Sunday softball game in addition to the big dinner.

He glanced at the newspaper beside him, today as the 27th. Well, what the hell, it wasn't like he was far from Brixton and he wasn't working this weekend (at least not for BPD, anyway), he picked up the phone.

"Dick, Dick Grayson? Oh my lord, I was hoping you'd call—I was talking with Marsha just this morning and we were wondering how you were doing. In fact, I saw Bruce at the club just a couple of weeks ago but you know how he is, 'didn't say a word about you. You're in Bludhaven? Why on earth...? Well, we'll sit down next week and you'll tell me everything. And are you married yet? Jeanie was wondering that a couple of months ago but—oh, never mind, we'll all catch up."

He smiled to himself, trying not to laugh at Patty; she never was what anyone could call stoic—annoying, hyper, way the hell too wired, yes, self-contained, no. "How're the responses, a lot of people coming?"

"Everyone, well, almost, anyway. It's going to be a good turn out and a lot of the teachers said they'd be there, too."

"Great, sounds like it'll be fun."

"Oh, it will, it will..." An awkward pause came through the line. "Um, Dick, I hate to bring this up, I know it sounds incredibly tacky, but since you're coming—which is great—I was wondering if, I mean there's a sort of a problem and I hate to ask but..."

"What?"

"I know it's really last minute but I know you guys do all kinds of parties all the time over at Bruce's place and I know how obnoxious this is, but..."

"Patty, what?"

"Oh, god, this is terrible to ask like this but the club cancelled on us last minute because they have some wedding or scheduling mix-up or something. "

"And...?"

"Could we have the dinner up at Bruce's? We have the caterer all set and we can get tents and things, I swear it won't be a problem and we'll do everything..."

"I'll give Bruce a call."

She was on a roll..."Because if we can't use it we'll have to use like my parent's place and you know that's like a postage stamp and Marsha's parents said no and Lindsay's parents refused and then Tim's folks said we'd have to take out some huge insurance policy and..."

"I'll call him now and call you right back."

"Because if we can't I guess we'll have to go someplace stupid like the beach and then we have to get all kinds of permits and we probably don't have time and..."

"Patty..."

"So, y'know, I hate asking, but..."

"Patty, _stop talking_. I'm sure Bruce won't care but I'll call him now and then call you back in a few minutes, all right?"

"...Seriously? That would be fabulous!"

Ten minutes later the permission was given. "Patty, it's okay with him, so long as the class committee handles everything and makes sure that everything's cleaned up and removed when it's over. He also said that if you want he'd let the class use the outdoor pool and pool house and would let you set up the tables and tents around the main garden next to the water."

"Oh my lord—tell him he's wonderful and he _has_ to come to the party, okay?"

"I'm sure he's booked but I'll let him know. Just let me have the names of the set up committee members and a list of the people who said they're coming so security will let them through the gates; you can fax it to me."

"But I don't have a..."

"E-mail will be fine."

"Oh, Dick, _thank you_—you're a life saver!"

Call ended, Dick laughed as he headed for the shower. This would be fun.

A week later the reunion set up prep was in full swing, party rental trucks bringing in tents, tables, chairs, a portable dance floor, lighting and sound equipment, portable heaters and god knew what else.

"Master Richard, might I inquire what the committee is charging the attendees for this soiree?"

"Two hundred and fifty each but I'm pretty sure most of the cost is being picked up by some of the richer members of the class."

"I would suspect an arrangement like that might have been needed, judging from the extent of the preparations."

Dick nodded with some bemusement, "No kidding." Patty never had been known for her sense of proportion and evidently she hadn't changed in the last five years. 'Good thing her family was second only to Bruce in the annual local wealth ratings.

"Have you considered that should a class member need to avail their selves of charity, they may simply choose not to attend to avoid and possible embarrassment?"

"I mentioned that but it's pretty much too late now to make any significant changes and I guess there'd be no real way to know who isn't coming because of cost."

"I suppose, yes, but it's unfortunate."

Dick nodded, Alfred was right and next time he'd see what he could do to get the price down, it wasn't like they'd have a hard time getting sponsorship with the average income of the classmates.

"Alfred, what the hell is that damn banging and would you please make it stop?" The voice coming through the intercom was angry, half asleep and brooking no argument.

"Immediately, Master Bruce." A moment. "I though you said that you were going to tell him about this. In fact, I thought you said that you'd cleared it through him a week ago."

"I did. I guess he forgot."

"I would think that the chance of that is slight, at best."

"He hasn't had coffee." Dick shrugged, but a pissed Bruce was a bad thing. "I'll go talk to the workmen."

"I would hope so."

The next day, Friday, marked the official start of the reunion activities with anyone who wanted showing up at Roma's Pizza down on the Brixton main drag, nestled in between the Gucci shop, the Hermes store, Tiffany's and the Ralph Lauren Black Label flagship store. It had been there forever, started by Carlo Roma back in the thirties and keep going by succeeding generations of his progeny. It was small, cheap and served the best Italian food for fifty miles.

The place was packed, noisy, the beer was flowing like Niagara and smelled like Italian heaven.

Dick walked in late, around nine-thirty, alone and looked around for anyone he'd like to sit with. Patty and her husband, Chad were in a booth over by the window and gestured for him to join then. Sliding in on the far side of the table he took Chad's outstretched hand and leaned over to kiss Pat on the cheek.

"So, Grayson, I hear you're working for Wayne Enterprises—how's that going for you?"

Say wha? "No, not working there. I was given my precinct assignment down in Bludhaven, I'm a cop."

"Yeah, right. So, you're working your way through the company to get a feel for the place, that's what I hear from my dad. Bruce wants you to take the reins eventually, right? 'Starting in security or something like that?"

"No, not really. 'Starting as a cop on the beat—well, in a squad car and seeing what I can do with it."

Chad stared for slightly too long then bust out laughing, "Man, Grayson, you had me going there for a minute; you, a cop—like _that _would ever happen." He walked, non too steadily away, still laughing and stopping at one of the booths to spread the word, causing more laughter.

"So, Dick, what are you really doing?" Patty was smiling at the ridiculous idea, too.

"I'm a cop in Bludhaven, for real."

"No, really."

He pulled out his wallet, opening it to the flap which held his gold badge. "Really."

Chad looked confused, Patty bemused, at best. "Well—damn." An awkward pause. "So—are you married? Seeing someone?"

"Single, so far, anyway."

"Y'know, my sister will be at the dinner tomorrow and she's always had a thing for you, if you're interested..."

Whatever. "Thanks, Chad, sounds great. What was her name again?"

"Emily."

Whatever. Their meals arrived, hot, swimming in melted cheese with probably enough cholesterol to kill a horse. The small talk continued, competing with the juke box and loud reminisces going on around them.

"Hey, remember that last quarter against Gotham High?"

"I can't believe that she has _four _kids already!"

"Well, I think she looks like hell, if you ask me."

"Well, I heard he married his boyfriend last year and, well, I think it's_ good_. Don't you think it's good?"

"C'mon, you never say Sawyer when he _wasn't _drunk or high, right?"

"Tell him to watch it, there's a cop in our midst."

"'Bet Wayne shit a brick when that bomb was dropped."

"Hi, Dick, you've aged well..." And that was the comment which led to the trouble.

Mick, Patty and Chad were quietly catching up, as much as Dick could talk. He limited himself to the agreed upon version of his life the last five years; his short stint at college, his wandering around the world in search of himself (okay, he was with the Titans, but that wouldn't fly I this place) and his decision to go to the Bludhaven Police Academy. Chad and Patty married last year, just as Chad finished law school and just after she finished her teaching certificate in ASL.

"So, Dick, I was hoping you'd be here tonight—promise that you'll dance with me tomorrow at your place?"

He looked up to see Jackie Turner beside him, still looking like a high school cheerleader, missing only the Brixton Prep uniform to go back five years. "Me? How do you know if I_ can _dance?"

"Oh, stop—you were raised by Bruce, of _course _you know how to dance. Promise?"

Promise and then you can explain to me why you broke my heart back in school."

"I did? How?" She was smiling, hoping it was true and that he'd maybe liked her back then (and maybe now).

"You went to the Christmas Ball junior year with Jeff, you even accepted in front of my during lunch in the cafeteria. Then you went steady with him until graduation." It was even true, he'd carried a torch for her all through high school.

"Tomorrow we'll make up for lost time, then." He pulled a few bills from his wallet, tossed them on the table and stood to leave. "I told Bruce I'd help him with some things tonight, but if you're not already booked for the cookout...?"

"I'll meet you there at eleven, okay?"

"Island Beach, right?"

She nodded, smiling that smile he used to dream about. "Eleven."

It took him a little while to get out of Roma's door, stopping at almost every step to chat for a moment or two with someone but, finally, he was in the parking lot. Pausing to put on his helmet, he saw the scratches, deep and angry looking along the side and gas tank of the new, custom Ninja.

They were intentional. A quick look didn't reveal anyone else out in the lot nor any other vehicles damaged.

Goddamn it.

It could be random, sure. It could be some stupid vandal, some kid or someone making a statement against the rich Brixton bastards; that wasn't all that uncommon. He'd dust for prints when he got back to the manor but—dammit. This sucked.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two**

The damage to his bike was bad enough that it would have to go back to the shop for some serious sanding, filling and repainting. It would be at least a week before it would be drivable again, meaning that Dick was forced to use one of the other twenty-three vehicles at his disposal.

He was, understandably, in a rare bad mood the next morning at breakfast.

"I can't believe it. Seriously. This is just...it's really annoying."

"I think you'll find, Master Richard, that the damage isn't permanent and that the repairs will be quick and, unless I miss my guess, completely undetectable when finished. Now, scrambled, poached or eggs Benedict?"

"Nothing, thanks, Alf. Just some coffee, I'm meeting some people at the brunch in an hour. " He shook his head "..Sorry, you're right but it's still—y'know."

"I do, indeed. No one enjoys being victimized. Have you any idea whether the vandalism was random or aimed at you in particular?"

"No. 'Probably just some as...jerk." There hadn't been any prints and he'd looked last night; the damage could have been done by almost anyone and, frankly, wasn't worth the time to track down unless there was a repeat.

The conversation was interrupted by hammering and the sound of trucks being moved into the back yard, there to deliver the tables and chairs and god knew what else for the big dinner tonight. Dick was used to big catered affairs but this seemed a bit over the top for a simple high school reunion, then, considering the neighborhood, it wasn't all that out of line.

He was glad someone had sponsored the thing otherwise the price of admission would have a whole lot higher than the one hundred and fifty they'd charged everyone. Idly, he wondered who'd kicked in the several tens of thousands extra it looked like the thing was costing, didn't really care and mentally shrugged. Whatever. Evidently the reunion was more important to someone than it was to him.

"Bruce still asleep?"

"The Master is long gone, declaring that he'd rather 'downstairs' than be subjected to the disruption of his home. I suspect that he'll make himself scarce for the next day or so."

"Figures. I'm going to the brunch, 'later." Leaving Alfred, as always, to cope with the workmen.

Dick took his Dad's Harley the short two miles to Island Beach, the site of the brunch cookout, pulling into the lot a civilized half hour late and parking as close to the main areas as possible to keep half an eye on the beloved old bike. The beach, a private one located in Brixton and closed to anyone lacking the needed (and expensive) parking permit would be politely asked to move along, thank you.

"Nice bike, Grayson, old, isn't it?"

"Hey Benson, yeah, it was my dad's, a 62'." Dave Benson, captain of the football team, National Honor Society and general BMOC back in the day.

"Sweet; you fix it up or did you have it done?"

"No, no one touches this thing but me." He stowed then helmet on the seat, tying it down with a bungee cord. "'You still ride?"

"When I can, sure. 'You want to do some road tripping one of these days?"

"'Sounds good, sure. So, who's here?"

"Pretty much the ones you'd expect; the in crowd, the jocks—or most of them, no nerds, no losers that I've see so far. C'mon, get yourself a brew and socialize."

There was a decent crowd, maybe fifty or so with more arriving by the minute; singles, couples, a few young kids tagging along as well as a few older and younger class siblings and the odd parent or two. The sky was clear, it was a warm day and the grills were fired up and a pick up beach volleyball game was starting a little way down the sand.

This should be fun.

Jackie and Emily, Dick's old crush and someone's sister, had brought beach chairs with them, wanting a place to retreat to, should the whim arise. The old class, well most of them were—okay, but there were always the ones no one would be caught dead with. You know the ones, the kids who sat alone at lunch or ate in the AVA room or always walked around with their shoe laces untied or had zits.

Every class, every school has their share losers and dweebs, even exclusive private ones.

It wasn't that the girls were snobs, not really. Honestly, they weren't, they just wanted to have a good time with their friends and maybe make a few new ones, if they were lucky.

"Dick, over here!"

He turned towards the girls and gave a small wave in acknowledgment but stayed where he was. John Baldwick was there and Peter Mueller, a couple of his old friends from when he was on the school paper, along with the old student editor, Amy Fischer. Hands were shaken, hugs exchanged and the stories about silly, funny and memorable high school moments started.

Half sitting on one of the picnic tables, cold beer in hand, Dick finally allowed himself to really enjoy the whole reunion experience, when you forget that you couldn't stand someone and just let the years roll away, remembering the good times; making a few up if need be and forgetting the taunts and angst integral with being a teenager.

"You went to Hudson, right? 'Serious party school, Grayson, I'm betting even _you_ could get laid there, am I right?"

"Unlike you, Benson."

"Bite me."

"Hey, Dick, you working for Bruce now?"

He shook his head. "'Working down in the Haven."

"Get outta town, you in the Haven? Doing what?"

"I'm a cop."

A pause then the small group at the table started laughing. "Good one, Grayson."

Smiling, he pulled out his wallet, opened it to the gold badge with 'Bludhaven Police Department number 7648' below the city seal.

The silence was immediate and awkward. "Holy crap; you're serious?"

"I went through the Academy and got my assignment about two years ago."

"You're kidding, right?"

Dick gave the skeptic a look which answered the question; no, he wasn't kidding.

"So, you're like a cop on the beat, wear a uniform and the whole bit?"

"Yep, the whole nine yards."

"Bustin' heads?"

"Only if they need it."

"No, really."

"That's really, I'm a cop. 'Just got promoted to Sergeant, in fact."

"...Sergeant Grayson?—holy crap. I mean, you're not lying? Man, I didn't see that one coming I figured you'd end up in some cushy job working at WE and live the good life."

"My life is pretty good, Jim, I like what I do."

"That's—good."

Whatever they all seemed to think he was doing, if anyone actually had given it any thought, it was the reality. The atmosphere was getting to heavy, almost hitting depressed or sad or something, it was time to lighten things up. "Okay, so who's up for volleyball?"

The weird tension broken, the group moved down the beach to the single net set up in the sand, the classmates already playing gladly making room for the newcomers. Dick noticed a few sideways looks, half caught a few comments letting him know what he already assumed, that his career choice, at least the one he could talk about, was as far from the accepted norm in this crowd as he could get. It didn't matter, not to him, anyway and he wasn't all that surprised. Kids in Brixton were supposed to go to some decent college, get a job with dad's law firm or work the stock market, maybe spend their inheritances and live the good life. Police work in the field was a bit too blue collar, akin to joining the army to this crowd; there wasn't anything _wrong_ with it, of course, it just wasn't something their kind did. It was a bit too—well, you know, a bit too gritty.

Screw 'em.

The volleyball game went on for close to an hour, the young men were mostly in decent shape, especially Dick, of course, and they vied to impress one another with their digs, dives and saves. Finally, the sun getting too high and hot to be comfortable with a semi-strenuous workout, a break was called at fourteen points for both sides with both teams sprinting across the sand to the warm lake.

Leaving the splashing behind, Dick opted for relaxing in the warm water and finally chatting as Emily, Chad's sister swam over to where he was floating on his back, letting the water hold him up with minimal effort.

"I think you're brave to become a cop; don't listen to them."

"I don't."

"No, really, I think it's wonderful that you're doing something that matters; most of those guys think a tough day is having the stock market go down a hundred points."

"For a lot of people that's more important than what I do."

"A lot of people are idiots."

He smiled, wondering if she meant it or if she was just trying to come on to him. Normally his mind didn't go there, but there was something almost premeditated in the way she'd swum out to him and then started laying on the compliments. "Being a cop isn't what a lot of people seem to think it is, it's a job. I like it, I think it's important but it's a lot more paperwork than cops and robbers." He started moving closer to shore, finally standing waist high in the water." Emily stood next to him, both of them facing the crowd on the beach.

"I know that. No, I do; my grandfather was a mounted officer for the NYPD back in the forties. I know what you guys go through and your family, to. It's, well, it's a hard job to do right and I think you're probably pretty good at it."

"Why?"

"Why do I think you're good?" He nodded, curious about whether she was sincere or just blowing smoke. "Because you're smart and you had bad things happen to you, so you understand."

"Excuse me?"

She paused for a moment, choosing her words. "I remember when you first arrived, when you were the new kid in class. People talked—you know—about your parents and Bruce adopting you or whatever he did."

"Oh, that. It's okay. I guess that had something to do with my decision, sure; it pretty much had to, didn't it?" He glanced down the beach. "C'mon, the food's ready, 'you hungry?"

"Is it just me or does Dick seem more mature than the rest of the morons?"

"Yeah, well I think he's matured just fine, thank you."

"Well, _yeah._"

"Wasn't he voted 'Best Butt'? I'd say his title is safe."

"Y'_think_?"

"Girls, stop. I mean it, he's always been a nice guy but now he seems like he's an adult instead of the rest of the guys who are playing at being adults."

Jackie shook her head, "Face it Em, you had a case for him in sixth grade and you _still _have a case for him." She sipped her diet iced tea. "But you could do a whole lot worse. What were you two talking about out in the water?"

"Nothing, I was just telling him about my grandfather."

"Your grandfather the cop? Subtle, much?"

The group of young women laughed, Emily's crush on Dick Grayson had been common knowledge all through school and he'd probably heard the rumors himself but, damn, he was as close to movie-star handsome as you could get, was rich as Midas and even had a social conscience. It didn't get much better than that.

Later, around five in the afternoon the sun was headed past sun burn potential and the party was packing up so they could shower, change and regroup over at Wayne Manor for the big dinner, complete with two bands.

Dick unhooked the cord holding his helmet to the seat and, "Motherfucker—goddammit." The leather seat was slashed into pieces.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Part Three**

Seven o'clock and the classmates were starting to arrive, stopping at the gates, passing through the security checklist and rolling up the three mile driveway to the main entrance. The cutoffs and bathing suits were changed for more formal clothes with the men in sports jackets or better and the women in new party dresses and heels. Hair and makeup were polished and the competition was on full force.

It was archaic and as non-PC a world as you could find; the married women subtly had the edge over the singles who were a notch below the engaged. The ones who'd managed to reproduce were in a class by themselves, discussion colic, teething and the terrible twos, making it all sound adorable.

The marrieds group together to talk husbands, the engaged compared notes about wedding preparation and honeymoons and the singles were available.

It was as obvious as possible to every woman there and completely lost on every man but this was Brixton where, with some exceptions, the women were still a vital accessory to the men who had important jobs and supported a life-style beyond most people's understanding.

"Y'know, I think I was at college when I first met someone who didn't know how to waltz. I'd just assumed that everyone had ballroom dancing lessons in junior high."

"That's because you went Ivy League, if you'd gone to NYU or someplace you'd have met lots of people who don't get copies of Emily Post for Christmas."

"Maybe they should. Seriously, have you ridden public transportation? Major disgusting."

"God, Brian, you're such an ass."

Dick Grayson silently thanked whichever god who had placed Alfred in his world; his new Armani tux was pressed and waiting for him when he finished his after workout shower. The workout, he needed it to get a lid on his anger about the Harley. He'd dusted it for prints and all but come up blank. Whoever did it must have either worn gloves of been incredibly careful, especially with dozens of people hanging around for the reunion picnic. It had to have been someone in the class or working set up or something along those lines and it was obvious that he'd been targeted—two damaged bikes in two days. That wasn't a coincidence.

So—who? Aye, there's the rub. Who hated him, was jealous of him, wanted a payback or was just stupid and crazy?

Ten minutes later he walked through the Manor to the side yard (as he thought of that area) to where the tent (lined with silk) had been set up just past the pool in the event of rain or an unlikely July evening chill. The trees were strung with thousands of fairy lights, a decent enough band was playing unobtrusively and the wait staff was circulating with the various appetizers while the open bar was doing steady business. The underwater lights were on in the pool, and would be casting romantic reflections when the sun went down in an hour or so.

It could have been any Saturday night at the Manor and Dick had seen this a hundred times over the years—charity dinners, galas, birthday parties, political fundraisers, it was all the same.

"Dick, over here, I've saved you a seat!"

He turned, Emily was waving at one of the waterfront tables. Well, fine, he had to sit somewhere and she'd been fun this afternoon. He kissed her and Patty on the cheek, "May I get you something from the bar?"

"Ginger ale would be great, thank you—you clean up nice, y'know."

"You ain't chopped liver yourselves. 'Back right back."

Waiting his turn at the bar he contained his mild annoyance when Dave Benson gave him a slightly too hard punch in the arm greeting. "Hey, Grayson, things are looking par for the course around here." He took his neat scotch from the bartender, downing it in one swallow. "The rumor that you're slumming as a cop true and why the hell would you _do_ that?"

"A ginger ale and whatever you have on tap, thanks." Benson elbowed him, wanting some kind of an answer. "It was a whim, Dave." Picking up the two drinks he nodded a "'Later" and walked back to his seat just catching the surly look thrown his way as he left.

Putting the soft drink in front of Emily he took a drink of his beer, scanning the crowd, picking out faces here and there of people he actually wanted to catch up with. Jeez, Thornton was going bald and Hardwicke, he looked about six months gone with that gut he was carrying. Have some self respect, people. "Where are Patty and Chad?"

"'Talking over there." She nodded to another table. So, do you still live here or are you down in Bludhaven now"

He turned to Emily, noticing that she was really a very pretty woman, more so than when they were lab partners in biology. She seemed to have grown into herself, was more comfortable in her skin now. "I have an apartment down there; it's easier than driving every day. What about you, you still in Brixton?"

She nodded, "My mom, I help take care of her." It was a statement of fact and Dick wracked his brain to remember what she was talking about—oh, right. Her mother had cancer, that was it. She had some kind of cancer.

"That must be hard."

She half shrugged and half nodded. "It's okay. 'Better me than some stranger."

"Should I ask how she is or not?"

"She's—not well." Emily stated it as a fact, neither good nor bad, just that it was. "You've been through it, though, losing a parent. You know what it's like." She caught the slight, very slight shock on Dick's face, immediately replaced with a blank facade. "God, I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything."

"I know, it's all right. Most people don't remember anymore and when someone does, it's always—they don't know what to say or they get that weird look because they're thinking about those stupid rumors about me and Bruce." He took another pull of his beer. "I accepted it fifteen years ago. You don't forget, ever, but you move on eventually."

"Because there's no real choice."

"Because there's no real choice." They understood one another, at least about this.

"Is that why you join the police?"

"That's part of it, sure. Bruce understands, or is trying to; it's a good fit for me, I'm doing something that matters, 'making a difference where I can."

"I'm sure that you are." She gave him a smile he wished she'd shown him five or six years ago. "Me, too—I mean with my mother, making a difference for her."

"I'm sure that you are." Clumsy pause which went on a few seconds too long. "Well, that was incredibly depressing. 'Want to dance?"

Emily breathed out a relieved sigh, "'Love to."

Across the pool, Dave Benson turned away from Brian Lightner, still his best bud after almost twenty years. They'd been through everything together; Cub Scouts, measles, first loves, getting ditched, ditching. Captain and co-captain of the Brixton Bison, helmed the football team in their first winning season in thirty years. Now Brian was an alcoholic, divorced, behind in his child support and holding onto his job by his fingernails and would be out of work if it wasn't owned by his father. Dave was doing better; against all odds he'd finished college and was now a junior exec over at Wayne Enterprises, working in procurement. He shopped for a living, it was what he did—no, not for the big things like corporate jets or tracts of land or whatever. He was the guy to call if they were running low on Post-it notes or you needed a new desk chair. Coffee-maker for the HR department? He'd fix you right up.

So, he was doing better than Dave, no question about that. Hell's bells—here he was being wined and dined right under the nose of the big man himself, if he was home, that was. Old Bruce wouldn't know him if he fell over him and never would.

He was small potatoes.

Small change.

An underling.

A cog in the machine.

Replaceable.

Nothing.

No one.

But old Dick, now there was someone to take a long look at, thank you very much. He'd been handed anything he ever wanted on not just a silver platter, but an heirloom, Georgian, engraver silver server and he's had the gall, the balls to say 'thanks, but no thanks'.

He was a cop. He walked a beat—no, that's right, he _rode _a beat. Big difference. He wore a damn uniform, he had a badge, he was a flatfoot, he gave out _parking _tickets and he'd been raised in a circus—a_ circus_, f'the love of god.

The golden boy, the favorite son, the prodigal was supposed to ace Harvard, finish up at oh, maybe Wharton then take the reins from Bruce so the old man could spend the rest of his life playing golf and getting laid. That was what was supposed to happen, it was like writ in stone or something. But here he was, acting like this was just another weekend at the old homestead; band playing, hot and cold running servants, women buzzing around him, pheromones flying full staff.

"Dave, what's happenin', bud, you okay?"

"Me? Great; have you tried the food floating by, Bri? Good stuff."

"Yeah, y'know, this weekend is only costing us like fifty bucks—how'd they bring it in so cheap? This has to be costing a serious pile of change."

"I dunno, but I'd guess that Grayson underwrote it, the party's at his house, isn't it?"

Brian looked around a little blearily. "Oh, yeah. 'Nice of him..."

"Okay, let's get you some food, dude, and you need to slow down with the booze, man. Seriously."

"Yah'kay." Dave maneuvered Brian into a chair as the band stopped playing and Muffy Clarke stepped up to the mic.

"Okay everyone, settle down, c'mon, quiet down for a minute and listen up. Annie said the caterers are ready to serve dinner so find a seat. Yes, that means you, too, Whitney." There was some shuffling around as they all found a place to sit, the talking dwindling down to almost silence. "Okay, I want to really thank everyone for making the trip back to Brixton this weekend—five years, _can you believe it_?

Okay, now give a big hand to the organizing committee who really worked hard to get all this set up—and anyone who still owes money, we know who you are. Swenson, I'm talking to you, y'know so pay up! And let's also give it up for Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne who are letting us use their incredible house tonight—Dick, Bruce—is Bruce here? Okay, stand up, guys and take a bow..."

Muffy went on for another fifteen minutes, ignored by everyone but the other former cheerleaders as people started on their meals and chatted amongst themselves. The table he'd found himself at seemed to be having the best time, if the laughter level was any indicator with jokes and school stories, rumors laid to rest or not and old flirtations brought up and fully aired. Jackie, Emily, Chad and various other old classmates kept things moving and the meal was more fun than he'd had in a while. Dick found, to his pleasant surprise, that Emily was pretty—which he sort of knew but never gave any thought to—intelligent, funny and incredibly nice. She didn't giggle, she didn't simper or remark on how blue his eyes were (which he'd come to find annoying, they were just eyes, for god's sake) and she had put her teaching career on hold to care for her mother while she fought breast cancer. She could even dance.

This was turning out to be a much better time than he thought it would be.

The evening went on, more dancing, lots of talk, jokes, most of which weren't even too dirty and way the hell too much networking and attempts to impress each other.

'Yale? Well, yes, of course it's a _good_ school but I just really found that Stanford was much more what I was looking for and being a legacy...'

'And so told him, Look Barack, I don't care how busy you are, you have to hear me out...'

Because Dick had been so tied up with being Robin, working with Batman and the Titans while he was in school, he hadn't spent much time on athletics or school clubs and so didn't have the connection a lot of the others did. He spent most of the evening with Emily and one or two of her friends and their significant others. By ten o'clock the second band was on, a majority of the alumni were dancing, a few were in the jacuzzi sipping wine and Dick had taken Em out to show her the view of the city from the gazebo. They'd been there for a while and neither knew or cared how late it was getting.

"How many girls—sorry, _women_ have you brought out here?"

"Me? None, I swear. You're the first."

She laughed. "Liar."

"Okay, maybe one or two but I promise I won't ask you to see my etchings."

"Do you have any etchings?"

"...When I get some, I promise not to show them to you." This was good, this was fun; she wasn't a first date, they'd known one another on and off for a dozen years or more and shared a history. The ice was already broken. "Come with me to the, the—whatever it is that's on the schedule tomorrow."

"A softball game at the school field and I'd love to." They sat close together, watching the lights of the buildings, taking turns trying to identify landmarks. "It's getting late."

He looked at her in the darkness, wondering what she meant. Did she want to leave and was she just making an excuse or was she really tired? "Did you want to get home, check on your mother?"

"My brother is taking care of her for me tonight. No, I was thinking that you've been spending the whole day with me practically, if you were getting tired of me I was giving you an easy out."

"Are, um, do you want to go?"

She was smiling at him, he could just make it out. "God, you have to be the most polite man I've ever met—that English butler, right? No, I'm having the best time I've had in years and no, I don't want to go home."

Well, okay, in that case—a"I think it sounds like the party is starting to break up, would you like to, I mean, would it be all right, you wouldn't be offended if..."

"Dick, spit it out." She was laughing at him, bust somehow it didn't hurt.

"I'd really like you to stay."

Laughter gone she studied his face as well as she could on the moonless night. "I'd like that very much."

Back at the pool area the classmates were drifting away. It had been a long day, the sun had been hot on the beach and the dinner had too much good food, the bands had kept the dance floor filled and they were all tired. The party was breaking up.

"Dave, c'mon, I'll drive, your shitfaced again."

"Am not." He lost his balance getting up from his chair, barely catching himself on the edge of the table. "Whatever. I gotta take a leak first, where's the can in this place?" He staggered towards the house, Brian following to make sure he didn't pass out in a potted plant.

They ended up exploring the mostly dark and seemingly empty house, making their way up the stairs and down a few corridors. "Holy crap, they have suits of armor; 'think they use them for kinky sex?"

"C'mon, Dave, let's find you a bathroom."

Opening a door they were in a bedroom. "'Must be one in here somewhere." Dave opened two more doors in the room, ignoring the closet and semi-shouting 'Eureka' when he found his goal. Brian waited in the bedroom area, idly looking at the stuff on top of the bureau. A wallet. He picked it up, sifting through the various snapshots and credit cards, pocketing the two hundred and thirty-seven dollars. Turing over another flap he found a Bludhaven Police Department badge... "Whoa, now _this_ could come in handy."

He slid the wallet into his pocket.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Part Four**

Dick led Emily into the mostly darkened house, moving from small pool of light to small pool of light made by strategically placed table lamps, pausing to kiss, embrace and share a soft caress along the way.

A few years ago, when they were in school together, Emily had a crush on Dick, never thinking anything cold ever remotely come of it. He was too handsome, too smart, too nice to ever be interested in her, she was one of the girls who everyone liked well enough, she was pretty enough, she was smart enough, she was nice enough—but not anywhere near up to the level of Dick Grayson. He was too, too—he was too good for her and so he'd stayed one of adolescent fantasies, carefully put away with her yearbook and cheer-leading sweater.

This was just of the moment, in the morning it would be over and, with any luck, they'd part as friends who'd shared a nice weekend. Nothing more.

They made their way slowly up the main staircase, their footsteps muted by the think carpeting.

"Is anyone else here?"

He pressed her up against the wall for a long moment as he leaned close to kiss her throat. "No one who'll bother us."

"But—Dick, stop, who's here?"

He pulled back a few inches. "Bruce, I guess, Alfred, maybe a couple others in the out buildings, the security people." He kissed her again. "It's all right, no one will bother us. " He smiled close to her. "They're all used to Bruce, it's fine."

That was the wrong thing to say and he knew it as soon as the words were out of his mouth. "This happens all the time?"

Crap, that wasn't what he meant. "Not to me, no, but would you rather leave?" He meant it, he didn't want to force anything, didn't want her to feel threatened or uncomfortable.

"Are you saying 'let's just be friends'?"

He couldn't tell if she was kidding or not. "I'm saying let's not do anything we don't both want to do, it all." He waited but she didn't say anything. "Really, if you want me to drive you home, I will and see you tomorrow at the softball game; no problem."

Emily put her hand on his chest, rubbing just enough. "If it's okay..." She moved her other hand, turning the knob on the door behind her, letting them both into Dick's suite of rooms.

"So, explain to me how you don't have a girlfriend." She was laying on her side, facing him, her head propped up on her hand and both of them were covered by a sheet—barely. The moonlight made a pattern through the window on the bed.

"No time, got dumped, no one can stand me for more than a few months; take your pick." His hand was trailing along her shoulder. "I don't know, I'm in Bludhaven, 'work odd shifts with the department and it gets weird when a woman finds out about", he gestured around the room, "this."

"'What? They want you for your money? I guess some do but how do you tell the difference? How do you know that they don't really like _you_?"

"Y'see, that's the catch. Sometimes I guess they might actually want to be with me, but I've been burned a few times about it and, y'know, it's hard to be with someone."

She turned onto her back, her face still turned towards Dick. "I was engaged for awhile but he couldn't deal with me having to leave dinners or cancel plans because of mom."

"Then he was a jerk." He kissed her hand. "That sucks."

"Yeah, it did, pretty much but you can't always decide who you're going to fall in love with."

"Mmm." Somewhere in the house they could hear a clock strike four AM as Dick yawned. "Time to sleep."

"...Is this going to be weird in the morning?"

He found her hand, kissed it again. "No. Sleep."

"Jesus, I knew Grayson was connected but this is a Black Amex card. It's time to party, m'friend."

"No spending limit? Christ, Grayson _landed _in it." Dave flipped through the rest of the stuff in the wallet; a platinum Master Card, a platinum Visa, Grayson's badge and police ID, a few snaps of a seriously hot brunette and a couple of built guys at a cook out and again on some tropical beach and an 'In Case of Emergency' card listing no name but what was probably old Bruce's private line.

_Score!_

Brian interrupted his gold plated train of thought. "So, let's move before he figures out it's gone and puts a hold on it."

Their first stop was the Porsche dealer three towns over from Brixton and, with some fast talking and the unexpected help of a new and desperately needing to meet his quota salesman named George, they were driving off the lot in a new, loaded 911GT RS, black with the black wheels and standard red and black interior.

Two hundred and forty-five thousand dollars. Plus tax. Plus shipping and freight charges.

Okay, the idiot should have checked and, in a way, he did. He did call the company, the credit card company and made sure that the card hadn't been reported stolen. He asked for further ID and got it—a driver's license with a kind of smudged picture and a look at Grayson's cop badge. And he got the attitude that only the truly super rich can pull off because it's somehow inbred or something. The attitude that said 'Are you _seriously _asking me for ID? Don't you know who I _am_, you ant?'

Yes, of course he should have called, oh, maybe the bank or maybe even Wayne Manor but he really needed the sale and the manager wasn't in yet and, dammit, he really, really wanted to be the one to sell that baby and it was Richard Grayson—Wayne's _son_, f'God'ssake. You might as well ask Bill Gates if he could afford to pay his dinner tab.

And yes, it cost him his job as soon as the dealership owner came in and made the calls to check the legitimacy of the sale and the owner of the credit card and was told that American Express had made a call to the home number of the real card owner and been told that no one in that household had purchased anything at all that morning. They had tried to call the car dealership but their calls and e-mails were unanswered; the receptionist wasn't in yet and who was checking e-mails when one of the biggest sales of the year was in progress? He was fired three seconds after the car was reported stolen to the local Police Departments and an APB was put out on the damn car.

The owner stood behind his desk, grinding his teeth and grinding his teeth.

Idiot.

Moron.

Imbecile.

A quarter of a million dollars on wheels that could go over two hundred miles an hour and it had left almost ninety minutes ago because the salesman—_ex-salesman—_hadn't waited for a standard credit card check. It could be in any of four states and going.

George was going to hang for this if there was any justice. He took the bottle of Tums out of his top drawer and swallowed a hand full.

"How did the reunion go last night?"

"All the evidence seems to indicate it was a success, sir. I expect that the rental people will be here shortly to clear away the remaining flotsam and jetsam."

"Did Dick enjoy himself? He seemed a bit ambivalent about the thing when he asked about holding it here; I was hoping that he ended up having a good time, at least."

"I suspect he made out quite well, renewed old acquaintances from what I saw."

"Oh?" Bruce knew what that meant and was privately pleased for the boy. Maybe it would turn into something, let him move past Barbara Gordon.

"Alfred, any idea why a Brixton squad car is pulling in?" The Master was having his usual six AM light breakfast, consisting black coffee; one cup only.

"I've no idea, sir. Would you prefer that I deal with them?"

"If you don't mind, yes. I'll be downstairs if it's anything I need to be involved with."

"Of course, sir."

"Ah-hmm. Forgive me, Master Richard, terribly sorry to wake you but I'm afraid that there are some gentlemen here who wish a few moments of your time if you would be so good as to join them in the main library."

Dick was, of course, awake as soon as Alfred opened his door, making sure that Emily was properly covered. The conversation was conducted in whispers.

"Who's here?"

"Two gentlemen from the Brixton Police Department. They wish to ask if you might have purchased a Porsche this morning and, as I suspect that you haven't, if you could ascertain the location of you credit cards and personal identification."

Dick got up, never one for false modesty, pulled the jeans he'd tossed over a chair back on and padded barefoot to his dresser looking on top where he'd left it and around on the floor, just in case. "My wallet's gone." It was said matter of factly, calmly and without much surprise. Then, grabbing a clean tee-shirt he pulled it over his head as he went through the door with Alfred, silently closing the door behind them.

"Forgive me, but the young lady...?"

"Emily. Let her sleep, I'll deal with her when I'm finished with the police." Alfred, used to such things from the master, nodded without comment.

"Officers, is there something I can help you with?"

"Richard Grayson?"

"Yes, and I've checked, my wallet is missing."

"You're sure that it not simply misplaced?"

"Yes, I specifically remember leaving it where I always do at night and it's not there."

All right, I understand that there was a party here last evening, is it possible that one of the guests or workers is responsible?"

"That would be my assumption, yes."

"You carry cards with high credit lines?"

"I have a Black Amex card, among others. I understand that someone used it to buy a Porsche this morning? I'll make sure that everything in my wallet is cancelled—Alfred, would you pull out that list, please?"

"I'd be pleased to make the calls for you, Master Richard."

"Yes, thank you." Alfred left the room, the local police kept their thoughts to themselves.

"Anything else in the wallet we should know about?"

"My badge and ID; I'm on the police force in Bludhaven, my badge and ID card plus a few more credit cards."

"Money?"

He shrugged, "A couple of hundred dollars."

"You're an officer with BPD? Precinct?"

"Third."

"'Cop on the beat?"

"I was just promoted to Sergeant, 'started working violent crimes."

The man, the detective looked a little surprised. This kid? What, did he have to take the silver spoon out of his mouth when he took the exams or did he have a flunky do that for him, too? "You're young for that."

"I guess."

"So you were careless last night. 'You have anyone who you know was walking through the house you don't trust?"

"Not that I know of, no. The security here is usually pretty good, have you looked at the surveillance tapes yet?"

"...Not yet. Do you mind if we do?"

"No, of course not." They hadn't even checked to see whether Wayne Manor's security staff had cameras running throughout the property. Yokels. Bruce was one of the wealthiest men on the planet, he and everyone close to him were targets for any number of criminals and lunatics, _of course_ he had heavy security on site. Dick picked up the phone beside him. "Jim? Please allow the officers to see last night's tapes, all right? Thanks. I can watch them with you if you want." Just then Alfred walked in carrying a tray with coffee and some pastries. "Jim will be here in a minute with last night's tapes, we'll watch them in the media room, if you don't mind, Alfred."

He silently withdrew, taking his tray with him down the hall to the screening room, the three men following. Two hours later they had Dave and Brian identified as wandering through the private quarters of the house, including the corridor housing the family bedrooms and suites. It seemed clear that they were the most likely suspects and a order to find and restrain them as persons of interest was entered.

"Sergeant, we'll be in touch."

"If I can do anything..."

"We'll be in touch, thank you for your time."

Alfred saw them out as Dick went back upstairs. He had some things to do today and at least one of them was making sure Emily didn't think he was ditching her or that she was just a one night stand.

He silently pushed the door open, silently simply because no door in Wayne Manor would dare to move any other way and heard her talking as he crossed the threshold. She was still in bed, sitting up but facing the large windows over looking the pool, her back to him.

"...idiots—with the security in this place and a guest list with every name..." She stopped mid-sentence, turning abruptly and closing the cell phone in the same movement. "Good morning! I was wondering where you'd gotten yourself off to." She stretched just enough to loosen the sheet nominally pulled up around her and gave him a come-hither look. "'Care for breakfast?"

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Part Five**

**Conclusion  
**

"Dick, is something wrong? You look, I don't know, annoyed or something."

"Who were you talking to?"

The phone was still in her hand. "Oh. My sister. You know Holly, don't you? She was two years behind us, anyway she lost her...engagement ring and I was trying to calm her down."

She waited for Dick to say something. He didn't, just looked at her.

"She probably just took it off to wash her hands or something, she's always doing that. It's probably just sitting on a shelf or something."

Nothing.

"I guess everyone's up, right? I should get ready to go—do you mind if I jump in the shower?"

Nothing.

"In fact..." Her demeanor changed from nervous to semi-sultry. "...if you wash my back I'll wash yours."

He pulled a pair of socks out a drawer then bent to get his sneakers, sitting in the desk chair to put them on.

"So, that would be a 'no', I'm guessing." Emily got out of the bed, naked and angry, looking for her cloths and probably thinking about the cliched walk of shame home in last night's party clothes. "Y'know, I didn't think you'd be like this—I wouldn't have stayed if I thought you'd pull this kind of bullshit."

"Excuse me?"

"Slam bam, thank you ma'am, that's what I mean."

"That's not quite what this is."

"Oh no? Last night you couldn't have been nicer or more charming—'you learn that from Bruce? Wine and dine then thanks for dessert and don't let the door hit you on the way out." She was pulling on her underwear and the dress she'd worn to the dinner. "Don't bother, I can find my own way home."

"I didn't offer to drive you."

"No kidding. Y'know something, Dick? You really don't have to live up to your name." She was just about to slam the door when he stopped it mid-swing.

"Come back inside and sit down."

"Go to hell."

"You weren't talking to your sister."

"To quote you, 'Excuse me'?"

"My wallet was stolen last night and someone, in all likelihood someone who was at the reunion has it and managed to charge a car on one of my cards. But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"How would I know anything about that? I was with _you,_ remember?"

"Um-hmm. And so you wouldn't mind talking to the local police, then?"

She threw him a professional grade glare. "Bring it on."

"Mist..yeah, sorry, Sergeant Grayson? We have an update about that car which was purchased with your credit card. If you wouldn't mind coming down to the station house, we'd like to explain what's happening."

Twenty minutes later Dick with Emily in reluctant tow, was at the local police station to get the full report in person and see if he could add anything to what was known. He was briefed by the local Captain.

"The car was lo-jacked, standard from that dealer on cars that expensive. It's been located in Atlantic City at one of the casinos and the ACPD expects to apprehend the men who were driving it shortly. I just got word that they've been singled out at a high-stakes blackjack table."

He showed Dick some grainy security camera images which had been transmitted to the Brixton police station, possibly in violation of some privacy laws. "'They look familiar?"

"Dave Benson and Brian Lightner, they were both in my high school class and both were at Wayne Manor last night for the reunion dinner."

"'You sure?"

"Yes, positive ID."

"'Friends of yours?"

"Not really, no, just old classmates."

"Do you know if they were ever inside the house before last night, have any reason to know their way around?"

"No, not that I know of."

"Okay, according to the casino's security people, they're playing with chips they purchased using a platinum MasterCard with your name on it. I thought you said that you cancelled your cards."

"I did; maybe they got the chips before I made the call."

"Yeah, maybe. You might wanna check and see what else was put on your tab before it was stopped, 'let us see what else these boys were up to."

A quick phone call later and they had the answer. "They bought the car after having an early breakfast at Starbucks then went clothes shopping at Neiman's where they each picked up some Gucci leather jackets to wear at the casino. 'Probably the jackets they were wearing when you picked them up. All in all, they racked up just under three hundred thousand dollars in a little over nine hours."

"And the card security people didn't check on unusual spending habits? I thought those guys made a big deal about how they're watching to make sure this stuff doesn't happen."

Dick knew what happened, or thought he did. "The car dealer allowed the car purchase and once that went through the rest, the relative small change items, barely made a blip on the screen."

Three hundred thousand dollars and it was like—okay? Crap, they knew Wayne, and by extension, his son, were rich, but damn...Brixton wasn't the real world.

"Yeah, well, since almost everything will be returned, and I did report the card missing as soon as I found out, I'm in the clear but, excuse me, but has anyone looked at the car?"

"...You're kidding."

"Left front fender, yeah."

"How do you know? It's parked in AC."

"I made a call." Dick had to Wally who'd checked it out for him. Flash then asked some questions; the parking attendant was as defensive as anyone he'd ever heard, swearing that the thing was messed up when it was brought in, he swore to God and on his mother's grave.

The captain just shook his head. "Dumb and ambitious, not one of your best combinations." And In Brixton there was a fair to middling chance that these idiots rich parents would buy their kids out of trouble, happened all the time. "'You planning on pressing charges, Sergeant?"

Dick was distracted and hadn't really thought that far. ""Don't know yet. We'll see." He was thinking about Emily and what he was going to do about that part of the puzzle. "'You mind if I use an office to question someone who might have some answers to this mess?"

"Nah, be our guest but we'll have to tape it—make sure it's all by the book, y'know."

"I know." Boy, did he know.

"So did you target me specifically or just sort of saw an opportunity and went for it?"

"It wasn't like that, honest. I swear."

"Emily, don't waste my time. Tell me what was going on and I might—might—decline to press charges."

She went from contrite to anger in a nanosecond. "Like it would make any difference to you, you're worth millions, this is pocket change to you—if the police hadn't called you, you wouldn't have even noticed."

There were about a dozen things Dick was tempted to say, everything from mentioning that she'd just confessed to the stupidity of her argument for ripping him off but he didn't. He stopped himself, watching her. A minute passed, then two.

"Okay, so call the police in or arrest me yourself, since you're a cop."

"This isn't my jurisdiction."

"Call your friends to do it, then. You know the locals."

"Why did you do it?"

She looked at him like he was an idiot. "The money." 'Like, duh' remained unsaid but hung in the air.

"Your family's rich and I know that there are some trusts you have income from."

"Gone." She was almost pouting, like a child who's eaten an entire bag of candy and is annoyed because there isn't another one.

"What did you need the money for or was it just because you wanted it."

"Are you serious? Why does anyone want money?—unless you have more than you could spend in twenty lifetimes which would explain why you're asking stupid questions."

He was unruffled; he'd been insulted and taunted by the best, she was strictly amateur. "Why? For your mother, to go back to school, buy out Tiffany's?" Medical bills could swamp anyone, force then into bankruptcy and Emily didn't strike him as someone who just wanted a spending spree—though it wouldn't be the first time he'd been wrong about things.

Fine, whatever. "I knew it, rich or poor, anyone with a Y chromosome is the same; you don't care about the money, you're just bent out of shape because you're thinking I used you last night and didn't fall into bed with you because of how fabulous you are." She shook her head. "Poor you."

"Emily, let's get back on track here. First of all, I didn't tie you up and make you stay last night and, secondly, I don't believe that you and these morons planned this. For starters, they were too drunk to plan anything and, from what I've gathered, they were just looking for a bathroom, took a few wrong turns and somehow ended up in my room then picked up what was in plain sight."

"Sure, whatever."

He was tired of this back and forth. Maybe it was just a crime of opportunity and maybe her trust fund really was empty. It didn't matter. The security cameras had caught Brian and Dave about as red handed as it got and Emily was being implicated by the moron twins.

He had better things to do and had wasted more than enough time on this.

But—he really had liked her and last night had been more than just a roll in the hay, at least a little, anyway.

"Are you going to press charges?" She was scared, reality seemed to have finally dawned.

"Do I get my money back?"

"I don't have it, the guys do." Her chin was trembling. Tough.

He shook his head, "Okay, whatever you say. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Hey...!"

He closed the door behind him and accepted the cup of bad coffee the local Lieutenant handed him.

"Now what, Sergeant?"

"Let her think for a while."

Twenty minutes went by, thirty-five, fifty, an hour and a quarter and Emily was left to sit by herself. Finally. "'Sorry, I had some things to do. 'You have anything to add?"

"It was because of my mom, the cancer."

"The medical bills?"

She shook her head, annoyed. "Have you ever taken care of someone who's sick like that? No? It sucks—no life of my own, can't go anywhere, can't take a vacation, can't have fiends over—it _really _sucks."

Uh...okay. "If it's so bad why not hire professionals?"

"Yeah, right, five hundred or a thousand a week, plus room and board? Good luck with that. My stupid brother is in the Midwest, my sister is a college student ad lives out of state—it's me. Period. I needed a break."

"...You're serious."

"Of course I'm fucking serious. We don't have hot and cold running servants like you do, _Sergeant._ Wake up, Dick; you don't live in the same world real people do, okay? I needed a _break_."

Incredible. Sure, care giving was hard, it was but—Christ. Incredible.

"That's_ it,_ you're leaving?"

"Who's watching your mother now?"

"...She's okay."

He opened the door. "Lieutenant? Send a car over to 87 Bradford, Lane, check on the woman living there and I'll swear out that complaint if someone can do the paperwork."

Inside the small questioning cubicle Emily stared in disbelief. "I don't believe this, you have no idea what it's like, not a clue. Spoiled assho..."

Dick pulled the door shut behind him.

6/4/10

29


End file.
